It could be anything. A shadow cuts
across the floor. In monochrome, it seems
a symbol of spilled blood. The hero struts
into the room. He must have heard the screams
but keeps his cool. French windows are ajar;
a little broken glass - another clue;
He checks the bit-part body; finds there are
some other pointers we're not privy to.
Of course he'll solve the puzzle, get the girl,
round up the villains, show up the police
as bumbling but well-meaning, while he whirl-
winds round procedures, slots in the last piece
of jigsaw. All ends well. No one will care,
or think about the corpse slumped in this chair.